Working for the British Government
by Yuval25
Summary: Harry Potter is working under the most important man in Britain. (...sometimes literally) OneShot. Please R&R! Mentions of sexual... sexuality. I don't know. I would really appreciate feedback! Under 'Family' gerne because I said so, and you'll see why. 'Romance' because of the sexual sexuality. No fluffiness whatsoever.


_Hello children and adults! I have finished this lovely piece and decided it was worth your time. So do me a favor and don't question me! It's a crossover between Harry Potter and Sherlock, thought I could have done without the Harry Potter part. I just couldn't help myself. It was so tempting! I have no more to say (except for disclaiming my ownership on Harry Potter and Sherlock BBC). Enjoy!_

**Working for the British Government**

**By**

**Yuval25**

"Reschedule the meeting with James Finns to Thursday, three PM. Tell him I'm out of the country if he asks why." Mr. Holmes said in haste as he got out of the car.

"Done, sir. Anything else?" asked the black-haired assistant, fingers already typing the orders into the small, sophisticated mobile phone.

"Not at the moment." He shut the car's door.

"To the closest coffee shop, please," asked the assistant politely. The driver nodded and they were off.

Being Mycroft Holmes's personal assistant was not easy, despite the frankly ridiculous amount of free time. He often gave near-impossible orders and requests (as in, when he said 'Please' at the end of an order). The job consisted of high mathematical skills and organization skills. And brains, to be able to keep up with Mr. Holmes's busy schedule and figure out what he meant because sometimes he did not give the orders straight forwardly. Sometimes he gave them in codes. And his handwriting was awful, so deciphering it turned out to be quite a challenge.

But all in all, it was a very satisfying job. The payment was beyond anything you could find in London, Britain, the whole world, probably, and it was actually quite exciting, despite what people thought. Managing Mycroft Holmes was basically managing Britain, as the man was practically running the country.

In truth, Harry wasn't even sure how he got the job. He was vaguely aware of the circumstances that led to his acceptance. The former assistant died from cancer a few weeks ago. Mr. Holmes didn't even grieve, at least not outwardly. He immediately hired him.

Despite the formality, working for a man like Mr. Homes was very… private. Very close. The relationship was not all business. Harry's position was the most trusted of positions in Mr. Holmes's wide variety of employees. The personal aspect of the job could be anything from making him coffee to keeping him company in his bed. And, yes, that meant providing him with sexual relief. That part was only done out of free-will, though, as Mr. Holmes felt the obligation to mention. The intimacy was required to keep hormonal balance and Mr. Holmes did not trust many people to see him so valuable and not take advantage of that.

Harry was enjoying his job, though.

Yes, he was expected to become Auror. Yes, his friends didn't like him being away most of the week. Yes, his godson pouted when Harry told him he couldn't tell him where he was going. But it was all worth it. It wasn't like he wasn't seeing his family and friends. As was said, he had lots of free time to do as he wished. But a call from Mr. Holmes was not to be ignored and wherever he was he had to put his boss first.

After a quick stop to buy Mr. Holmes coffee, checking it for toxins and poisons along the way (Mr. Holmes had many, many enemies), Harry poured some of it into a small cup that was in the car for these occasions and tasted it, making sure there was no foreign taste in the drink that could be dangerous.

He dropped it off at Mr. Holmes's office, smiling at the man, who was clutching his hair over the latest big scandal he had to keep under a leash, in order to cheer him up. It never worked, but trying doesn't hurt, either.

"Thank you," said Mr. Holmes. Even his voice was troubled.

"Of course, sir. Is there anything else?" Harry asked. He couldn't walk out of the room before he was dismissed. That was one of the rules he had to follow.

"Yes," Mr. Holmes started. Harry took out his phone, "Pick me up from my meeting with Josh Barns at eleven PM. You'll be spending the night with me," Harry stopped. He put the phone back in his pocket and raised his eyebrows at the man.

They always had sex (most of the times there wasn't any sexual intercourse, but it was still sex) on Sundays. Always on Sundays. Today wasn't Sunday.

Seeing the look Harry was giving him, Mr. Holmes was quick to reassure, "Nothing too thorough. I just need to relax."

Harry nodded, noting that he should look up ways to make one's body relax. Massage could work, but Harry doubted he could give Mr. Holmes a proper massage without screwing it up. He wasn't very coordinated, and learning how to use his hands for something new usually took him a while.

"That's it?" Harry confirmed.

"Yes."

Harry nodded his goodbyes and walked out. He would have to let Andromeda know he couldn't visit Teddy tonight. It was a shame – Teddy had been waiting for his visit for some time now.

Three hours later, Harry was waiting for Mr. Holmes to leave the ridiculously tall building, where he had a meeting with Mr. Barns. It looked like a gust of wind could make it topple down like a tower of Lego pieces.

And there he was. Tall, dressed in a business suit with an umbrella in hand. Harry never did understand what the deal with the umbrella was. It wasn't even raining. It couldn't be a fetish – it was Harry's job to know Mr. Holmes's fetishes for… Sundays. The image of a gruff half giant knocking down an old wooden door and setting fire with a pink umbrella popped into his head, and Harry smiled at the memory.

Mr. Holmes swung his umbrella up, as if to show it to Harry. "Is it a friend of yours?" he asked.

It took Harry a few seconds to understand that the man asked him if one of his friends owned an umbrella like this one. "A very good one," he answered wisely. Never give too much detail. Short answers. After all, Mr. Holmes didn't know something very important in the world as we know it. He didn't know the first thing about magic.

It might be surprising that a man like him did not know something so major, so big. The Statute of Secrecy covered the British government as well as the rest of the muggles, though, and Mycroft Holmes, despite his position and capabilities, was still a muggle.

Mr. Holmes got into the car and didn't even bother putting on a seatbelt. He looked at Harry and Harry knew it was going to be a long night. Mr. Holmes didn't look tired – he looked upset. The slight differences in the man's expression that defined his feelings (outside of Sunday's activities) were the first thing Harry learnt how to interpret. A by-passer wouldn't notice the way his brows creased slightly or the almost-not-there frown on his lips. The eyes held a spark of annoyance, and the cheeks were stern and tight.

They reached the house and the moment the doors were closed and locked Mr. Holmes became another person entirely. His shoulders slumped and he let out a frustrated sigh. He took off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. He put the umbrella aside and took off his shoes.

Harry discarded his shoes as well and took off his jumper.

And just like that, they became Mycroft and Harry. Mr. Holmes and Liam/Jasper/Leonard/Gregory/William were no more. Mr. Holmes only ever called Harry by his real name when he was at his house. Outside, Harry had to change his name and sometimes appearance constantly to avoid being followed or recognized. It was to protect both himself and Mr. Holmes. If someone were to know Harry's real name, his family would be in danger. There were a lot of people out there that didn't like Mr. Holmes and wouldn't hesitate to threaten his assistant or his family if they had the chance.

"I'll make some tea," Harry said, making his way to the kitchen.

"Yes, you do that." Mycroft didn't even bother with niceties. He never liked them. That was also why they conversations always started with the point rather than beating around the bush for hours before getting to it.

Harry boiled some water and carefully made the tea. When he was satisfied with the result, he took the two steaming cups to the expensive couch where Mycroft was sitting. He looked like spaghetti. He was so… limp.

Harry laughed and set the cup on the small coffee table next to Mycroft's limp hand. Mycroft was glaring at the hand like it offended him.

"Just drink your tea. I have plans." Harry told him. He knew Mycroft was much more comfortable with schedule and he liked to know things in advance.

They drank the tea in silence. Harry was thinking of what he had planned. It wasn't very creative – a warm bath with a simple (very simple, as Harry didn't want to mess up and make matters worse) massage. Later, probably something to make him sleep soundly. Meaning – sex.

"I'm done," Mycroft announced when his cup was empty. Harry was no longer sipping, so he assumed he was done with his tea as well.

Harry nodded and took Mycroft's hand. He led him to the bathroom.

"Strip," he told him firmly.

Mycroft followed _his_ orders now.

He filled the huge tub with hot water. It wasn't going to burn whoever touched it, but it was warmer than warm. It would probably feel too hot at first but it would relax the muscles. The tub was very big. It was at the size of a small pool, at least. Harry was amazed every single time at the wealthy life the man was leading. At least he didn't live in a mansion. The house was bigger than a normal person's but it would be weird if a man with a 'minor post in the British government' lived poorly.

Now stark naked, Mycroft stepped into the tub and gasped at the temperature. He trusted Harry, though, and knew he would never do anything to hurt his physically or mentally. He sat down in the deeper water, leaving his shoulders and head above the surface.

Harry undresses as well and got in behind him.

"If something hurts too badly, tell me. It's supposed to hurt only a little and then the muscles should relax." Harry said, running his hands over Mycroft's back. "Your back is full of knots, so it's going to take a while. Better make yourself comfortable,"

He started working on the tight places, pressing and rubbing and when that didn't work pushing his thumb hard into the skin and then rubbing it slowly. All the while Mycroft was making the most… unique sounds. He was moaning and growling when Harry pressed too hard and sighing. Each time he sounded pleased, or pleasured, or whatever, Harry would grin in satisfaction.

By the time Harry got rid of all the tension in Mycroft's back, the water have gone cold. Harry told Mycroft to get out with a sigh and handed him a towel. He drained the tub and dried himself.

Then he led him to the bed.

Mycroft looked beyond tired at this point, and Harry decided the sex was better reserved for Sunday, as usual. He lay down next to Mycroft on the bed and drew the blanket to cover both of them.

Mycroft surprised Harry by taking him into his arms. Mycroft buried his head into Harry's black tresses and sighed.

Harry liked it there, in Mycroft's arms. It was warm and not lonely, which was just what he needed at the moment.

Mycroft turned his head a little and captured Harry's lips in a lazy kiss. Harry helped himself to some of Mycroft's tongue in return. The kiss ended when Mycroft fell asleep. Harry laughed quietly – he has never kissed someone to sleep before.

Harry closed his eyes, and sleep took over.


End file.
